Happy Now (Lucinda Coxon)

I am wondering at what point it became acceptable for you to stand in this house on which I pay the mortgage, drinking the drink I bought out of the glasses I washed in front of the cake I baked and talk that fucking talk. All- and I think this is a lovely touch for which I must take full credit- while I'm wearing an apron.

Working towards a better tomorrow

'Beauty is only the first touch of terror we can still bear.'
 - Rilke


Sometimes we don't see it ourselves - the ripple beneath the surface of the smooth waters, the dirt beneath our shoes or the holes in our pockets. Behind the beauty stands the beast, he loves her and she loves him, that's how the story went and that's how the story goes.
Today we pride ourselves in being the fastest growing democracy - despite the whirlpool of chaos, distress, political fiascos and unnecessary (even harmful) jingosim. Rilke was probably talking about the bad underlying the good - he was probably talking about that which couldn't be seen or sensed. I would like to paint a different not so pretty picture for you though - We sense the bad, we see it and close the doors on it.
Bad need not be anything definitive - it could be red tapeism, it could be corruption, it could be the most unacceptable form of ignorance or it could be the fact that we choose to ogle at it without doing anything about it. It is only until recently that we have started to step out of these closed doors.
We celebrate Indianness and call ourselves culturally nourished, all the while in another part of the country the daughters of our soil continue to be harrassed, burnt, tortured, raped and broken.
The other day our respected Home Minister spoke of how even someone like Kasab was being tried fairly and justly for his crimes against the country emphasizing on the quality of civility this country has to offer. Why then is the justice system so fraught when it comes to the common man - one of our own?
You take to rebellion when Indians are subjected to racism in Australia but how exactly do you deal with it when it runs rampant in your own neighbourhood? Do you fight or even lift a finger to protest?
On the brighter side,
I applaud Corporate Social Responsibility, I applaud the inclusive growth agenda just when it looked like the government had grown immune to those who live a sub standard level of existence. After all what good is the green revolution when people in your country continue to starve to death? And what good is the technology boom when there are a vast number of villages devoid of a very basic amenity called electricity? And what good is the pharma boom when health care is the privilege of only a handful few?


Lets face it - we live on belief. Belief is like pneumonia - it is contangious and it spreads. Even though it lets you down it doesn't stop you from growing.
Remember morality comes from within and it doesn't exactly stop at that.

The things we don't care about anymore...

A broken coffee mug, a dead plant, shoelaces, the dripping tap, the actors who aren't in the  lead, the guy you dumped, the girl you dumped, failures, dead people, withered flowers, an ordinary day, a cold cup of tea, bills, unpainted walls, incomplete sketches, bad books bad movies,Angola, Cambodia, blunt pencils, pens that do not write, used up notebooks, the beggar on the street, the girl with a razor blade in her pocket, the old woman crouched at the corner, an unnamed painting, an unwashed pair of socks, torn clothes, dead animals, clouds in the sky, the summer sun, dreams when you can't sleep, water when your already dry, the 'ifs' and the 'buts' and the 'maybes', the underdogs, the least probables, the loners, worn out clothes, read mails, bitter hope, God - when you lose the one person you love, Love - when you lose the one person you love, money when your fucking rich, people you haven't spoken to in years, the girl you shared lunch with, cracked mirrors, a T shirt you hate, a tiny beetle on the floor, food that hasn't been eaten for weeks, bread with mould, clocks that stopped working, clear endless sky, details when you fucking tired, the crow, cartoons when your 40, caring when you've lost everything, a single piece of crayon, a used up piece of chalk, fantasy, rainbows and a piece of your mind.

The year I turned Feminist...

Happy New Year folks.
I've been looking forward to the new year for a long time.I guess I just wanted to leave a few things behind.I'm excited about the new year,I drafted out a shady sketch of what my resolutions looked like over a pork pepperoni pizza (my last chance at outrageous junk food before I make my resolutions stick) Rosh had his fill of those weary garlic breadsticks.

2009 had its own high's and low's.
I took the year off to decide what I had to do, but by the end of the year I realized that you never take 'time out' to put your life into place.You just move on graciously or not so graciously.
I also realized that 'the fun stuff' is not really where my head is at the moment, because right now my head just wants to bang against a wall to prove a point.A god darn important fucking point.(read : does NOT imply self mutilation.)
I think I should let it do that.For all you know I might crack it open and have some sense flow out of me.

The year end leaves me lost as always and tells me I have a lot to do, without really emphasizing on the conspicuous details.

Realizations : 
Even dumbwits have excuses, but a pessimist has none.A pessimist is single handedly the worst person you could be.
Keep your eyes on the prize.
Summer love is like summer sun..hot and short.
It kills to be different, kills every part of you.And I have died every one bit.
Its never too late to start over.
People who do not judge you in the truest sense of the word are a rarity.
If people could keep me on the tips of my toes, so could work.

Happy New Year.
(Resolution number 7 : Write regularly,write a bit every day,write in wind,storm,rain and sun,write when happy and when sad.)

XOXO

Ka ching.

Green Tea

by Dale Ritterbusch

There is this tea
I have sometimes,
Pan Long Ying Hao,
so tightly curled
it looks like tiny roots
gnarled, a greenish-gray.
When it steeps, it opens
the way you woke this morning,
stretching, your hands behind
your head, back arched,
toes pointing, a smile steeped
in ceremony, a celebration,
the reaching of your arms.

My room..

I had been to this seminar once,something on stimulating creativity.It was conducted by a Brit with a cast on her left leg.She never really talked about practical solutions.I personally am of the opinion that scribbling crap on a blank sheet with crayons is not the way to overcoming a creative block.Nor is singing an African hymn at the top of your voice.Love the crayons though, and the blank sheets.Anyway it was the self help shit that jobless people retort to...or people who can't get enough of their social lives.

There was this exercise which asked of you to describe your ideal room.

At that point I couldn't think of much.Except that I wanted a French window that would enable me to see the sunset and the sunrise.

Its lately that I have been thinking of my ideal room,in my ideal apartment right after I find an ideal job and move on with my ideal life and for all of that I'd have to get into an ideal B school which doesn't seem so ideal after all considering the fact that I have an exam two hours from now and here I am at the mise en scène of a brand new post that would be on my blog shortly without being rejected.

So then I started thinking about my ideal room.(I should stop watching Lev's life on youtube.)

I think it should be something like this:

The walls would need a Jackson Pollock feel, because every time you just look at them you would realize that art is  the only thing that won't die and that its okay to make mistakes or be messy because at times something beautiful surfaces beneath all the muck.

I would like to have a coffee machine and a popcorn machine too (I got the latter piece of idea from Rosh)

I'd have a few of those modernistic vases in my room,the shapes of which you can never fathom.They would be empty and bear no traces of flowers maybe a few quality ferns that I'd pick out with care.

My bed would be a little bigger than a single bed to accommodate company for a night only and not perpetually.

No photographs,no memories.

Lots of post-its and deadline dates.

French windows,large and wide,so that the room is lit up whenever I draw the curtains.Don't tell my mom that she'd lecture me on how easily someone could smash it and how I'd be found dead the next day.Anyway getting back to the windows..they should be big enough for me to jump off from if life gets smothered under rock bottom.

I am not a chandelier person lets keep those for the high profile snobs,instead I'd like those tiny weeny lights all through out the room,some on the floor even.

A writing desk is an absolute must.Flooded with stationery of all types: papers,pens,pencils and colours and markers and everything else.Ample leg space so that I can sit writing at my desk for hours together.

That's it I guess.A closet and a rug would complete the deal.

That's my room.

My ideal room.

That I wish to have, right after other ideal things.

Doesn't get any worse than this...

You said that I was a woman with ambition.

I say I am worse than that.

I am a woman who wants to prove herself

and people who want to prove themselves do so at the risk of losing everything they have,

and then they realize they didn't have anything to prove really in the first place.

We call it a dangerous and ill fed notion.